


Shared Shackles

by TrashyNyx



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alcohol, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mild Smut, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyNyx/pseuds/TrashyNyx
Summary: Two ghouls, two invisible shackles that bind, and two completely different personalities. One a pre-war soldier, reformed to obediently serve, rugged and ready to kill on command. The other a tame dreamer, gentle and hesitant in any conflict. No one expected them to cross paths, let alone walk those paths together.[Updated M/W/F. Made some minor edits to the first few chapters, so hopefully they read better.]





	1. Just Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, and welcome to **Shared Shackles**. Just a few things before we get started.
> 
> First, the biggest point: I wrote my first fic with a canon unfriendly pairing I was unaware of, and as such, decided to scrap the vast majority of it altogether - thank you to those who pointed it out. I changed most things, but there are some segments and plot points that are unchanged. (Honestly very grateful for the situation, because Gob/Charon is so fun to write)
> 
> Second: This fic will _not_ contain the Lone Wanderer. I'll let you imagine why that is.
> 
> And third: Warnings may change as we go, depending on chapter content. They will be updated in the tag list, but I will also make notes before chapters with specific triggers for those who may be sensitive to them.
> 
> And, of course, I do not own any property associated with Fallout 3. This is merely a work of fiction.
> 
> With all that boring stuff out of the way, onto Chapter 1! I'm excited to start the adventures of these two. Enjoy!
> 
> [ **W:** Alcohol and drug use.]

Charon let out a gruff sigh as his employer and the owner of Underworld’s bar - the Ninth Circle - polished glasses, greeting the one or two customers he always had at this ungodly hour of night. He was amazed at how some could start their vice so early. With a subtle shake of his head, Charon leaned closer to the wall. He could really go for a drink… but his employer would say otherwise.

And so he stood like a statue, arms crossed and eyes darting around the bar in watch. He could never understand how Ahzrukhal managed to charm his patrons. With that slimy smile and greediness in his eyes, Ahzrukhal was somehow able to wiggle every last cap out of their pockets, immediately shoving them into the pocket of his mangy business suit. None of the customers paid Charon mind, however, and he honestly liked it that way. The ghoul hated being stared at… which is why Ahzrukhal _loved_ doing exactly that.

It was at least a more eventful night than most for Charon, which did good to distract him from his employer’s prying eyes. Patchwork caused a ruckus and had to be thrown out; Charon felt bad for the guy, as he lost his hand on the way out - again. A couple of ghouls, who were a little too vigorous with the scotch, started a fight that the bouncer had to break up and “handle”, according to Ahzrukhal. Bloody and bruised, the ghouls mellowed out and ordered even more drinks, much to the businessman’s joy. There were several other minor incidents throughout the night, which equaled several patrons to be chucked out of the door.

As the bar slowly started to clear out - though there were still a few, who practically lived in the bar anyways - Ahzrukhal tapped his fingers lightly on the counter as he counted his earnings for the night. Charon tried his best to read the smarmy look plastered on his face. It seemed as though there was a strange concoction of pleasantness and frustration. He could only assume the profits were not up to Ahzrukhal’s greedy standards.

That was soon made clear to him.

From the safety of behind the bar counter, Ahzrukhal gruffly sighed, a slight growl escaping his lips. “Low today…” he muttered to himself. “Care to explain why that is, Charon?”

No response. He was not obligated to answer questions, only to carry out orders. That and he didn’t even have an explanation to give.

Ahzrukhal sighed again, the figurative steam of frustration pouring out of his ears. The fact Charon did not budge or avert his unwavering gaze from the wall seemed to add to the barkeep’s anger. He slammed a peeled hand on the counter causing all the glasses to clink together. “ _Explain_.”

Charon’s response was almost robotic. “You repeatedly ordered me to escort customers out. I simply did as you command.” There was a slight growl at the end of his sentence, one that his employer thankfully didn’t notice.

Snarling in pure frustration, Ahzrukhal violently threw the unimpressive bag of caps into the wall safe, slamming the door shut. He snatched a bottle of scotch and took his usual spot in the far corner of the bar. Charon’s muscles tensed slightly. This was always the time of the night that he hated, when Ahzrukhal delved into his stash. Scotch and Jet were his favorites. And those two together made for a very unpredictable fleabag.

“Charon, I wish to not see your ugly mug right now…” he angrily slurred, popping the top off of the bottle and swiftly downing half of it. “Go to the entrance and watch the door. Leave me be.”

“As you wish.”

Charon promptly went to exit the bar, but not before Ahzrukhal threw the now empty bottle of scotch at his employee’s feet, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. He had to admit, he was slightly confused by the outburst, though of course not showing it.

“All you do out there is stand and watch. _Nothing else_.” His eyes turned into slits, a snarl forming on his face. Charon knew exactly what he meant. No rest, no food, just stand there and wait until ordered otherwise. Same shit, different day.

He simply nodded and then repeated himself, “As you wish.”

He exited the bar immediately and took up his post on the left side of the door. Charon found this was the most optimal, as he could eyeball the entire upper and lower levels. From one of the small packs on his belt, Charon pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shaking one out and sticking it between his lips. After taking a deep breath of the less stuffy and relatively cleaner air of the concourse, he lit his cigarette, relishing in the sensation of fumes entering and exiting his lungs. It was an odd moment of bliss, peace, and quiet. Most of Underworld had retired for the night; the only noises were the occasional cough of those still awake and the banging of glass, tables, and chairs from inside the bar. Another drag of his cigarette.

He watched as Willow walked in, supposedly to have some relief on watch from Quinn. She caught him apparently, because she gave him a subtle smile. He nodded in silent response. Their odd way of saying goodnight. Another drag.

A loud thud from inside the bar caused Charon to suddenly jump on edge. Unsheathing his combat knife, he immediately turned around and quietly turned the knob, carefully pushing the door open. His jaw clenched; the bar was an utter _mess_ . Glass strewn everywhere from countless glasses and bottles shattered, most of the tables and chairs overturned, and way too many empty containers of Jet on the floor. ‘ _Holy fuck…_ ’

Charon put his knife away and instead slung his shotgun in his hand, spitting the cigarette out of his mouth. He didn’t know if this was Ahzrukhal’s own doing or not. Watching down the gun's sights, the ghoul patrolled the dining area of the bar, looking for any hint of what happened. A muffled scream echoed from the back room, causing Charon to immediately turn towards it, gun pointed straight ahead. He cautiously walked towards the door, and he muttered a curse as a step landed a little too hard on a patch of glass. As if on cue, the back room door busted open, revealing a drunk and drugged up Ahzrukhal. His brooding eyes were wide and glazed over, piercing into Charon’s pasty blue ones, a half-empty bottle of scotch in his hand. The once tidy business suit he wore was now disheveled, his black tie hastily undone. After a moment of tense silence, aside from Ahzrukhal’s slight growls, the barkeep finally spoke.

“Wwwhat did I… _tell. You_ ,” he slurred, voice full of disdain, eyes flaring. Charon realized he was still pointing his gun and swiftly put it down. But his fingers still twitched on it, ready for the worst possible scenario.

“I thought I told you…” He wobbled towards Charon, hands gripping the bottle. “ _Tooo stay outside…_ ” he growled as he stood in front of his employee, looking up at him fiercely. Even though Charon had many inches on the drunkard, he found his heart racing in anticipation. This little bastard had him at his mercy. And Ahzrukhal knew it.

It seemed like Ahzrukhal read his mind as his lips crawled into that sleazy grin of his. “You are disssobeying me… _zombie,_ ” he snarled, tightly gripping the neckline of Charon’s leather armor. Charon felt a stabbing pain in the baseline of his skull and his vision ever so subtly blurred.

“Apologies, it will not happen again.” His gravelly voice was robotic, practiced.

Ahzrukhal attempted to push him away, but Charon was either too steady on his feet or he was too weak to exert any force. He scoffed, knocking back the last of the liquor in his hand and chucking the bottle against the wall. “Dessserves a punishmment, I think…”

He wobbled his way to the back room again, snatching a broom from the wall and returning to face Charon with a smirk, shoving the broom against his employee's chest impatiently. He had to take a breath before he spoke.

“Youuu are going to clean this mess up… and you know what happens if it isnn’t… _perfect_.”

Ahzrukhal hardly waited for a response, turning around and making his way to his bed underneath the wall safe. Charon clenched the broomstick, his face forever stoic.

“As you command.”

. . . . . .

 

Charon hated to admit it, but he was actually sore. Between no rest or substance and working damn near all night to clean the tornado of a bar, his body was teetering on exhaustion. He had stripped off his torso armor to help make this process more efficient, and it certainly helped when he had to lift tables, chairs, and shelves. After many hours of work, his muscles were twinging, and a sheen of sweat covered his body. He had lit a smoke as he finished setting the tables back in place, taking a relaxing drag with every other breath.

With the final chair scooted in place, Charon couldn’t help but sigh in relief, damn near collapsing against the wall. He polished of his cigarette just in time for Ahzrukhal to stir awake. He lazily stretched and analyzed the room; Charon knew he was inspecting for any failure. Ahzrukhal had that sneer on his face, the one that was hard to read.

“I am pleasantly surprised, Charon,” he said with a slight drawl, no doubt because he was recovering from the night before. He turned his head to notice Charon ever so slightly slumped against the wall, black undershirt clasped tight to his torso with sweat, muscles visibly pulsating with fatigue. “But don’t think you get a _break_ , zombie.”

At the inflection, Charon instinctively straightened, despite the protest from his muscles, eyes emotionless and guarded.

“And put your damn armor back on. You will scare the customers with that horrific body.”

Charon had to hold back a snarl as he picked up his armor, quickly replacing it on his body as well as his shotgun. Charon resumed his position in the corner as Ahzrukhal prepared to swindle drinks onto any poor sap. And so, another typical day in the Ninth Circle started yet again.

About halfway through the day, however, the monotony broke.

A figure suddenly plowed through the doors to Charon’s right, causing him to grip the handle of his knife in preparation. His stance faltered when he saw it was Carol. Ahzrukhal shared his bodyguard’s surprise. “Carol… don’t scare me like that, darling.”

It was obvious the ghoulette had been crying, and she gripped a letter tight to her torso. Her voice was shaky as she spoke. “Ahzrukhal… I request your help with something,” she muttered, shoving the letter across the counter. The barkeep picked it up and read it over, letting out a sigh when he finished.

“And… what would you like me to do?”

As if she was performing some secret Jet trade, she glanced around for onlookers and eavesdroppers, not even noticing Charon eyeballing them from the corner. From her dress pocket appeared a quite full bag of caps that made a satisfying clunk on the counter. Ahzrukhal’s brows immediately rose, the sudden interest obvious. Carol sternly looked at the ghoul across from her, and even though her voice was still emotional, her tone was stern enough.

“I want Charon to do it. He is the only one who can save my Gob from that… monster.”

Ahzrukhal chuckled, gingerly petting the bag on the counter in thought. “A monster to eliminate a monster… poetic,” he chuckled to himself. “What does Greta think of… this?” He asked because he knew he would get a response.

Carol let out a slight sob but did well to still maintain most of her composure. “She is… fine.”

Without hesitation, he snatched the caps from the counter possessively with a smug grin. “Oh, Charon!” he yelled across the bar. Carol slightly jumped as Charon seemingly poofed into existence at the end of the counter, patiently waiting for his order.

Ahzrukhal was very blunt in his speech, which oddly pleased Charon. “Go to Megaton. Get Gob. Kill anyone who stands in your way or tries to stop you. Return immediately.” He smirked towards Carol, who fidgeted in response. “Leave, now. Don’t come back unless you succeed.”

With no more than a nod, Charon walked out of the door with a purposeful stride. He got his orders, he needed nothing more. On his way out, he heard a quiet voice call out to him.

“Be careful!”


	2. Infiltration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little late, but it is here! 
> 
> Also, this chapter includes the good ol' trudging through metro tunnels, and I tried to make it match the world map as much as possible. I did reference tunnel maps as well, so hopefully it makes sense location wise.
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter. Think of this as to prepare for the next chapter...
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [ **W:** Abuse, gore]

Charon had stopped by Tulip’s little store before going to head out, picking up the essentials - ammo, some stimpacks, and a handful of grenades. In response to her consistent stammering and the bright red blush on the remaining skin of her face, he simply nodded. Just like the other ghouls he interacted with often, she didn’t take offense. Everyone had just accepted how he was or just ignored him.

On his way out, though, a particularly livid ghoulette stomped in front of him. It was Carol’s partner, Greta, and she was clearly fuming. Charon had to do his best to hold in an annoyed sigh; he didn’t have time for this shit.

“Just what did Carol tell you to do?” Greta asked sternly, hands firmly placed on her hips.

“She did not tell me anything. My orders came from Ahzrukhal."

She didn’t like that response. “I don’t care who told you. _What did she say?_ ” she snapped, taking a step forward to get into Charon face, or at least making an effort to. The only answer she got was a disgruntled snort.

“ _Fine,_ you want to be that way. But I swear, if you end up hurting her in any way, you are _dead_.”

Charon simply nodded and promptly brushed past her, the large doors to the concourse groaning as he opened them. As he did every time he was sent on an order, he took some moments to admire the large skeletons and replicas of creatures past. It was funny; he was sure they looked familiar, like he had been to this very museum before… before the War…

He forced himself to snap out of whatever train of thought he was stuck in. There was no time for such rumination - he had a job to do.

The outside patrol, Willow, greeted him as he exited the museum. “Hey, big guy. Haven’t seen you out and about in weeks.”

Willow was one of the few ghouls that could get Charon to have at least some form of conversation. Whether it was the two being similar to each other or a crush of some kind, no one could say for certain, but to Charon, it was refreshing to have another ghoul he could tolerate.

He let out an amused grunt in response, pulling out his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering one to Willow, who graciously accepted and lit both of them. They each took a couple of long drags, both just standing at the bottom of the steps watching the dumb super mutants walk around and yell at nothing. The silence was broken by Willow's gentle sigh.

“Where are you off to this time?”

After another drag, Charon eyeballed her out of his peripheral quickly before continuing his blank stare into space. “Megaton,” he curtly answered. He could see her eyes widen at his response, the cigarette in her mouth damn near falling out.

“Megaton? That is so far… what could possibly be there?”

“Carol paid Ahzrukhal to have me retrieve Gob. That is all I know.”

“Wait… ‘retrieve’ Gob? Does that mean you’re…”

Charon simply had to look at her and nod, and Willow’s eyes lit up, a smile plastered on her face. From her waist pouch, she pulled out another pack of cigarettes, handing it to him. A gesture of good will. He took it in silence, but the way he looked at her was enough for Willow, and she giggled, patting him on the shoulder as he turned to start his long trek.

“Go get him, big guy.”

. . . . . .

Charon huffed as he blew a hole in yet another Super Mutant; these creatures were too stupid for their own good. Once he plowed through a few more, he took a moment to glance at the worn down map he had found. It was faded and very much dated, a pre-war document showing the routes of the DC metro. He traced the very long route he had to take to end up across the Potomac, and he sighed in slight annoyance as he descended into the Museum Station.

Besides the occasional molerat, the venture through the tunnels was uneventful. The mass amount of ferals didn’t deter Charon as they left him alone, simply casting him a soulless glance before snarling as they limbered away. For this, the ghoul was thankful he was such, as tackling a large pack of ferals was not ideal.

He finally stumbled upon Metro Central, where he made a sharp left, the start of another long walk through the dark and dank tunnels. The snarls of ferals were now nonexistent to his ears, just a form of white noise in the blackness. He came across another fork and in the dimness of one of the remaining working lights, Charon checked his map again, determining he had to continue on through. He knew he was getting close to the river as he started to trudge through a now flooded tunnel. With a grumble, he took off his boots, using the laces to tie them to his belt, and pushed up his pants above his knees; the last thing he wanted on this already long journey was drenched clothes. The radiation was oddly relaxing against his feet as he waded through, and after another arduous walk, he finally entered the Arlington Cemetery North. ‘ _Thank god…_ ’

Before exiting to the surface once more, Charon pulled his pant legs back down and replaced his boots. Flinging his shotgun into his hands, he carefully climbed the stairs and opened the large metal gate. The brightness of the sun burned his eyes, and he had to blink a few times to adjust to the change, and as they did so, he could see a large formation of metal and piping in the distance - Megaton. Charon smiled to himself, and he started the final stretch.

The trek was surprisingly uneventful. Besides the occasional raider or mutated creature, Charon found himself rather bored. He finally arrived at the walls of Megaton, crouching behind a large rock as he saw a sniper perched above entrance. “Oh great…” he grumbled. He was pretty sure as a lone, armed ghoul, he would get a shot to the head instead of access to the town. Time for plan B.

Taking care to avoid the sniper’s line of sight, Charon scouted the edges of the wall, looking for any potential opening either in existence or one he could easily create. Near the back wall, he noticed a small hole in the sheet metal, about the size of a child he would guess. With some elbow grease, he could make it work.

Unsheathing his combat knife, he started sawing away at the hole, and after a few minutes, it was about twice as big. ‘ _That’s as good as it is getting…_ ’ He stripped off his gun and armor, sliding them through the hole first, and he followed. A few scratches on his sides, but nothing major. He snagged the remnants of the wall, leaning it back up to hopefully conceal his entry, then ducked behind a building, replacing his armor and shotgun. Charon decided to keep the knife in his hand, just in case.

Charon stayed in the cover of the many buildings; he was unsure of these peoples’ opinions of them, and he would rather not take any chances. Soon, he spotted the glaring sign for ‘Moriarty’s Saloon’, his eyes hardening and grip on his knife tightening. ‘ _There you are, you evil bastard._ ’

Sneaking up to the back of the saloon, he stopped short as he heard a hearty laugh from the back door, and he could smell smoke in the air. He cursed to himself. Of course someone would be on their smoke break as he is trying to get in. Regardless, he listened to his surroundings, and the smoker started talking.

“Oi, that ghoul, always causing me trouble…” Charon gritted his teeth. He hated this guy already… and that annoying as fuck accent.

“... First he drops me glasses, then doesn’t stock the right liquor. What does he think this is?” He stopped, presumably to take a drag of his cigarette. “I already gave him a piece of me mind yesterday… wonder if I should again. Maybe right now.” The man chuckled. Charon gripped his knife tighter, his jaw clenching. Target acquired.

. . . . . .

Charon managed to sneak into the saloon as he followed the Irishman inside, and he was immediately hit with the stench of various liquors, smoke, and sex. This place damn near beat the Ninth Circle in the shithole department.

Hiding behind a barrel close to the counter, Charon sat and observed. Namely, he was watching the Irishman, his eyes never taken off of him. His heart skipped a beat when Gob stood up from behind the counter and the older man chuckled. Charon readied his knife, preparing to leap out of the shadows. But for now, he stayed hidden, watching the scene unfold.

Gob was stationed at the bar, polishing glasses in silence, the patrons at the counter snickering and whispering to each other. Charon could see him visibly flinch as the Irishman walked up to him, sneering the entire way. “Oi, Gob, how be the business?”

“F-Fine, Moriarty, sir…” Gob responded shakily. He focused his attention on the glass in his hand, refusing to make contact with his boss. The man he addressed as Moriarty suddenly grabbed the ghoul’s forearm, tightly judging by how violently Gob lost his footing. The glass he was holding fell to the floor. Gob flinched. Moriarty’s eyes lit on fire, and he yelled in anger as he clocked the ghoul straight in the jaw and kicked him as he fell down. Laughter echoed throughout the saloon.

“Seems like ye be lying to me, zombie. So let us try this again.”

He violently gripped Gob’s collar and hoisted him upright, an evil smirk growing from under his goatee as Gob flinched violently, clasping his eyes shut.

“Ye don’t want to disappoint me, do ye?” A smack across Gob’s face. Charon could feel his face flare up, his grip on his knife tightening even more.

“N-No, sir…”

Another smack, an increasingly deathly grip on the knife.

Moriarty’s laughter roared in the small saloon, and he threw Gob off to the side by the barrels. As the bartender tried to get up, his boss slammed his foot down on him, knocking the wind out of him.

And then everything happened in fast forward.

From behind the once inconspicuous barrel, Charon leapt out from the darkness, and in a swift motion plunged his knife into Moriarty’s leg, the serrated edge causing a cry of pain to echo in the saloon. Charon wasted no time and scooped Gob into his arms, quickly running to the back door as he situated the tiny form into his arms. Gob was unsure of what was happening until he found himself chest to chest with a burly figure, arms and legs wrapped around a neck and waist respectively. He gasped in surprise, but he didn’t bother to look up. Instead, Gob clung even tighter to his savior, closing his eyes as he heard his boss angrily yell behind them.

“Ye motherfucker! Get back here… he is _mine_.”

The back door burst open and shots started to fire behind the duo. Charon was surprised at how good the Irishman’s aim was, as each shot seemed to get closer to grazing his back. As Moriarty pursued them, continuing to fire, a switch in Charon’s brain flicked on.

‘“ _Kill anyone who stands in your way or tries to stop you.”_ ’

His orders played on a constant repeat as he swiftly rearranged Gob to now be on his back and turned around, shotgun ready and aimed directly in the middle of the face of their pursuer. Without a word, Charon’s fingers clasped onto the trigger, and with a loud thunder, Moriarty’s face was no more, his body slumping onto the ground in a gory mess.

“Motherfucker…” he growled. He didn’t stand on ceremony for long, rearranging Gob to how he was before against his front, and with shotgun still in hand, he started booking it to the back wall. He could hear screams from behind him - people discovering the body, no doubt - and when he made it to his hole in the wall, Charon kicked the sheet metal covering it and pulled Gob off of him.

“Go, now,” he ordered with a slight push to Gob through the hole. Thankfully, the bartender didn’t question this at all, shimmying his way to the other side. He stood there waiting nervously as he could hear the loud claps of Charon’s thunderous shotgun, and for the first time in this whole ordeal, he stood there wondering exactly who this mysterious hero of his was.


	3. Watch Your Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter chapter, but this one has lots of action (which I hopefully wrote in an engaging way)!
> 
> Don't worry, next chapter, we will delve into the psychological yet again. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [ **W:** Canon-typical blood/gore]

“I… Is that you… C-Charon?"

Charon didn’t have time to answer as angry yells reverberated off Megaton’s walls. Grabbing Gob again, he started to run, not looking behind him.

Only one thing was on his mind. His order.

So he ran non-stop through the tunnels he had traversed earlier and continued as they reached the surface in DC proper, finally ducking behind a concealing concrete formation just on the outskirts of The Mall. Charon pulled Gob off of him, setting him on the ground and taking a seat beside him, resting his head on the hard surface behind them, letting his eyes close, and slowly working to catch his breath. It had been quite some time since he winded himself that much, and even though they were so close to the museum, Charon’s knees ached and felt as though they would collapse underneath him.

Gob shifted uncomfortably beside him. He didn’t know what to do right now… it had all happened so fast. It did not even dawn on him where they were, honestly; all he knew was that they were no longer in Megaton, and that fact alone made his heart race and his remaining skin crawl. After swallowing the lump in his throat, Gob decided to finally break the silence.

“So… w-why did you do all that? Not out of the kindness of your heart… knowing you.”

Charon's eyes suddenly snapped open, and for a quick moment, Gob was terrified. ‘ _Oh no, he is going to kill me…_ ’ To his surprise, however, Charon instead cast a quick glance at him, seemingly not even acknowledging what he said.

“Carol paid Ahzrukhal to have me come retrieve you from Megaton. My orders are to bring you back to Underworld, period.”

Gob looked at him in disbelief. Carol really had done that? She must’ve been desperate if she had turned to that slimebag, of all people. Then again, no one else would have been able to do what Charon just did…

Charon had assumed his resting position yet again - eyes closed, head leaned back, an arm draped over a bent knee, the other hand instinctively gripping his shotgun. Gob found himself unable to look away, either. He simply sat there, occupying his hands by tossing a rock between them, but in reality, his pasty eyes were taking the form of the ghoul beside him. He never even thought for a second that he would see Charon ever again when he left Underworld so many years ago to pursue his dream, let alone in this particular circumstance. He was free of Moriarty’s tyranny, on his way back to his mother, in the company of this big… _attractive_ … brute he hadn’t seen in years.

Gob was quickly brought back into reality when Charon shot up from his seated position and started firing, and Gob crawled his way behind another enormous piece of uplifted concrete for cover, trying to spot what exactly the bouncer was shooting at. When his eyes caught a glimpse of bright green, he immediately knew. Super Mutants. Very unhappy ones.

There must have been at least five or six, Gob wasn’t certain. He wished he had a weapon; Moriarty would of course never allow that. He instead resorted to looking around in a feeble attempt to find something, _anything_ , he could use.

Then, a disgusting sound caught his attention. It was something wet, some kind of… slurping? Gob turned around, his eyes widening at the monstrosity in front of him. He could hear nothing else, not even Charon’s shotgun thundering in the distance or the mutants’ screams as they fell in heaps. Only the horrific squelching of the creature in front of him, tendrils writhing out of its mouth, large body sliding across the ground like a snail. Even though it moved ever so slowly, Gob was petrified.

He was surprised when it immediately stopped, an ear-splitting cry of pain sounding throughout the ruins. Gob was confused until he saw the knife sticking out of its neck.

The centaur whipped around, another sound escaping its mouth. It sounded different, more hostile and… angry. Beyond it was Charon himself, shotgun pointed directly at it, taunts flowing from his scarred lips. “Come on, you want some?!” Gob hated himself in that moment, because all he could think about what how incredibly attractive that was.

Just as Charon was about to pull the trigger, a long tendril shot out of the monster’s mouth, tightly wrapping around his shotgun and yanking it out of his hand, flinging it to the side. ‘ _Well, fuck…_ ’

The big heap of flesh then charged at Charon with surprising speed, earning it a good right hook in the jaw. Charon then saw an opportunity and grabbed one of the tendrils, using it as a form of leverage to hoist himself onto its back, wrapping the gross string of flesh around its neck and immediately tightening it. The centaur bellowed as it slowly lost air, more tendrils wriggling out fully in a panic. One of them managed to find Charon’s torso, and in an instant, it was wrapped tight, squeezing violently. Charon could feel his ribs straining and his lungs burning, but he forced himself to swing down and retrieve his knife, earning him some cracks and snaps that made him loudly grunt. Even as he coughed in agony, blood running out from his mouth, Charon continuously plowed his knife in and out of the creature’s head. With each stab, another tendril would catch another part of his body, but he didn’t stop until one snatched the wrist of his knife hand. Even though it was on its last legs, the centaur still managed to give one last squeeze through all of the appendages wrapped around Charon, making him violently sputter red out of his mouth and cry out in agony, before tossing Charon to the side, his body skidding across the road.

With staggered and pained breaths, Charon propped himself up on his elbows, smirking when he saw his shotgun within arms reach. He heard the slurps and squelches of the centaur coming closer and lunged for the shotgun. Catching its head directly in his sights, Charon's smirk widened as he cocked a slug in the chamber.

"Eat shit, ya ugly son of a bitch.”

And with one thunderous clap of his gun, there was nothing left of the creature’s head, its terrifyingly fleshy body slumping on the ground lifeless. Charon let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and a wave of pure agony coursed through his body, surprising him so much that a yelp of pain escaped him. Each attempt to sit up was immediately denied, coughs wet with blood and torment racking through his body, and the only thing he could do was hope Gob was safe as his vision turned black.

. . . . . .

Gob hadn’t had the strength to poke his head out of cover throughout the entire ordeal, and it wasn’t until the gruesome and disturbing noises fell deathly silent that he gathered the courage to look. He couldn’t hold back the alarmed gasp as he saw the heap of grossness now motionless on the ground, blood coating it and the area surrounding from the stump of its neck. Gob suddenly felt a wave of nausea at the sight, and he couldn’t stop the consequential hurling.

Something panged at him, though, and he suddenly leapt out from behind the cover of the concrete slab and ran towards the fleshy body. Where was he? ‘ _Where is Charon?!_ ’ Gob started to panic, and he began to frantically scan the surrounding area, eyes darting every which way. His heart sank, eyes stopping on a smaller body on the ground. His breath caught in his throat, and he sprinted towards it, feeling tears sting the corners of his eyes.

“C-Charon…? Charon?!”

Gob practically collapsed onto his knees, the wetness trickling down his face only accelerating as he took in the image before him. Charon was lying on his back, his face contorted in agony, the bright red seeping out of his mouth contrasting the maroon tone of his face. Gob was at least relieved that he was still alive, though his breathing was irregular, ragged and strained, bruises from the tendrils’ grip littering his arms.

“... Are you… injured…?”

Gob’s eyes snapped up to lock with Charon’s dim ones, and he placed a hand on Charon's shoulder. Gob knew he was in bad shape when there wasn't even a flinch at the contact. “Charon… I-I am okay… please, don’t strain yourself,” he said softly, his voice shaking and fingers trembling.

Charon did the exact opposite, attempting to push himself up into a seated position. His cry of pain reverberated through Gob’s ears, and he thankfully had quick enough reflexes to catch Charon before he hit the ground. The tears were now damn near constant, quite literally a river.

“Charon -”

“I… I have to get you… to Underworld,” he muttered through struggled breathes, his eyes slamming shut as he tried to fight Gob’s grip.

Gob wiped away his tears, a sudden resolve taking him over. He leaned over and grabbed the shotgun, much to Charon’s confusion, and proceeded to hoist the larger ghoul up, wrapping an arm around his neck and tightly grabbing hold of Charon's waist.

“We will get there… together.”

And much to Charon’s surprise, they sure as hell did, in one piece to boot. Gob had even had the balls to shoot the hell out of a couple of Super Mutants on their way, and Charon couldn’t help but feel a weird sense of pride. He certainly didn’t expect this from the timid bartender, who was cringing before his asshole of a boss merely hours ago. But now look at him, lugging around his currently useless ass body and plowing through those that stood in his way. He couldn’t stop the half-smirk that formed on his face.

“Gob… I am… proud of you…”

His voice was merely a whisper, but he could feel the other tense up underneath him.

His vision was fogging at the edges, darkness beckoning to him again. He was so tired… but he had to be sure Gob was safe.

After what he thought was hours, Charon could vaguely make out a figure running towards them. Who the hell was that? And why wasn’t Gob shooting them down immediately?

“Gob! What the _fuck_ happened?!”

Willow… it was Willow. They were here. Gob had got them here safe. A wave of solace overcame his body, as well as the darkness from before. The last thing he heard was Willow and Gob yelling his name before unconsciousness hit him like a truck.


	4. Disappointment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, this turned out a little longer than I thought. I tried to take some time to build upon Gob and Charon a bit - which will continue to happen in the next chapter, no worries!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [ **W:** Medical depictions of injury]

Thankfully, Willow had taken initiative to help Gob lug Charon's body through Underworld, all the while ignoring the mixture of surprised and horrified looks residents would give the trio and shooting straight towards The Chop Shop.

Barrows jumped as the group burst through the door. He grunted in annoyance, slamming his pencil down on his desk. Why must people assume he has the free time to deal with whatever, whenever? He didn’t make a point to turn around until his nurse let out a gasp of pure terror; she never did that.

When he turned around, Barrows immediately leapt up from his desk. He suddenly had way too many questions… what the hell happened, why was Gob here, what did that brute get himself into this time, what was he going to tell Ahzrukhal…

But the doc had a job to do, so he pushed all those persisting questions to the side and focused on triaging his patient. Barrows motioned for the ghouls holding Charon to place him on a bed, and without a word, they promptly left, and he breathed a sigh of relief, motioning Nurse Graves over.

He took a few moments to take in Charon’s condition head-to-toe, looking him over and occasionally poking and prodding. The usually expressionless face was now contorted in what Barrows could only assume was unbridled pain, accompanied by equally as pained, raspy, and uncontrolled breaths. Bright, fresh blood seemed to be seeping consistently from his mouth - seemingly with every breath he took, Barrows noted - and from what he could see without removing clothes or armor, the bruises covering his arms indicated a choking force. ‘ _A centaur…_ ’

Barrows then proceeded to take off Charon’s armor and undershirt, and for a brief moment, he was thankful the brute was unconscious. Otherwise, stripping his upper half wouldn’t have been this easy. Graves gasped from the other side of the bed, and Barrows himself let out a small one of his own. A large dark purple and black bruise circled Charon's entire torso, the force of the tendril frighteningly visible, accompanied by smaller ones consistent with broken ribs, confirmed by Barrows applying slight pressure and earning violent yelps of pain in return.

He sighed and looked up at his nurse, eyes piercing and serious.

“Alright, Graves… we have a lot of work to do.”

. . . . . .

It was weird to be back here. Gob sighed as he walked around Underworld. ‘ _Hasn’t changed much…_ ’ he thought, though it didn’t surprise him. Most of the residents recognized him, tackling him with hugs, asking him how Megaton was. He came up with some bullshit “everything was great” story; he wanted to forget all about it, to be honest.

As Gob was making his way upstairs, Winthrop politely stopped him. “Hey there, kid,” he said, patting the other ghoul on the shoulder. “Home sweet home, right?” A chuckle escaped the repairman’s lips, and Gob couldn’t help but reciprocate it.

“Yeah… hasn’t changed at all, has it?”

“Of course not,” Winthrop laughed. His face then became slightly more stern and concerned. “If I can ask, kid… what happened out there?”

At first, Gob didn’t know what he meant, but then he remembered only hours ago dragging Charon through the concourse. He suddenly felt a wave of sadness crash over his being… God, he hoped Charon was okay…

“O-oh…” he stuttered, occupying his eyes by staring over the railing into space. “W-We had just entered DC, Charon had to stop for rest… those damn Super Mutants appeared out of nowhere,” Gob took a deep breath, Winthrop placed a hand on his shoulder. “They were easy enough… b-but I wasn’t paying attention and a…” Another breath. “A centaur came up behind me. Charon ended up killing it, but not before…”

Winthrop gently squeezed Gob’s shoulder. “It’s alright, kid. I’m just glad you are safe. Knowing Charon, he will be fine.”

Gob couldn’t help but grin a little. He was right about that, Charon was one of the most stubborn ghouls he knows. The other ghoul chuckled again.

“Well, I’m sure Carol will want to see you. Better get up there before she worries even more.”

With a nod, Gob turned and continued up the stairs. Before entering Carol’s Place, he took a deep breath, his hand shaking as he turned the handle. He was greeted by an excited squeal and one of the biggest hugs he had ever been a part of. His shoulder was slowly becoming wet, even more so as he returned the hug tightly.

“Gobbie… you’re back…”

“... Sure am, Carol. It’s good to be home.”

He looked up and saw a glare from behind the counter, a lump forming in his throat. Apparently, not everyone was happy to see him…

. . . . . .

It had been a couple of days now, and Gob had taken to helping Carol and her partner Greta with the inn. He mostly took to helping with food and drink, as that’s what he was used to doing, receiving the occasional scornful look from the latter. What the fuck was her problem? That thought would always quickly escape his mind as another one crept up. As he polished glasses and wiped the counter, Gob couldn’t help but worry about Charon. He hadn’t had the time to check in on him. He let out a sigh, finishing his tasks and telling Carol he was going to bed, to which she gleefully acknowledged.

Gob had to admit, it was nice to be able to settle into a bed and not be fearful of anything. For the first time in years, he felt relaxed. As his eyes closed, he couldn’t help but smile. Sleep was slow to overcome him, but he had finally started to doze off…

A loud slam on the counter startled him awake, damn near making him fall off the bed. “What the hell…” he muttered to himself. He sneakily made his way to his door, pushing it open ever so slightly, and he could make out the voices of the ghoulette couple. He sat and eavesdropped.

“I don’t understand what the problem is, Greta…”

“You know damn well what it is, because we have dealt with it before. Or has all this clouded your memory?”

Were they arguing… about him? Gob swallowed the lump in his throat…

“Greta, honey, he is family. We can’t just… leave him behind. Especially when he was in that… cesspool of a city.”

Yep, about him.

“Why now, Carol? Why not years ago?” Silence. “Yeah, I thought so. You only make an effort when it is fucking comfortable for you.”

“That is not-”

“I know you love him, maybe more than anything else in this shithole of a world, but why the fuck now? And why here? We don’t need him.”

Gob felt that statement stab in his chest. ‘ _They don’t need you… get out of here…_ ’

“Greta, you are being unreasonable… and jealous.”

“Oh, _am I_? Why won’t you answer the damn question, then?”

Gob hated Carol’s silence. It was as if it was affirming what her partner was saying. And that made his heart drop into the growing pit forming in his stomach. The silence was finally broken by Greta’s annoyed grunt.

“I don’t understand you. Whatever… I’m going to bed.”

Gob silently shut his door, sitting on the floor and hugging his knees towards his chest. Once he heard both pairs of heels click their way into another room and the door closing, he choked out a sob, shutting his eyes tight to prevent the tears from running. Did they really not want him? Was he just… a slave still, just there to help them with their business? Just a… _liability_?

He couldn’t handle the thoughts, and for whatever reason, he found himself leaving his room and Carol’s Place, practically jogging down the stairs. Underworld’s concourse was deathly quiet; he figured most were either sleeping or giving Ahzrukhal business at this time of night. Gob soon found himself in front of the double doors to The Chop Shop, and he took a couple of deep breaths before opening them.

He was greeted by Nurse Graves, her lips curling into a smile. “You are out late, Gob. Feeling well?”

He weakly nodded, which he realized probably wasn’t too convincing, and rubbed the back of his head nervously. Graves had returned to her work, no doubt trying to meet one of Barrows’ strict deadlines, and he took a moment to glance around. The doctor seemed to be out of the office, assumingly retired for the night, and the bed in the furthest corner was blocked off. He wondered…

“Is… is C-Charon okay?” Gob asked timidly. Graves stopped typing on the terminal and stood up, turning towards him. She walked over and placed a reassuring hand on his bicep. Did this mean bad news, or was she just this nice?

“Yes,” she said gently, her smile returning. “After loads of stimpacks and sticking him in with Meat and Ethyl over there…” She pointed to the Glowing Ones in the glass-partitioned room, the radiation a visible cloud around them. “... we were finally able to at least make decent headway into the healing process.”

She paused, turning and leading Gob towards the blocked off corner. ‘ _He must be behind there…_ ’

“That centaur did a fucking number to him, that’s for sure,” she continued. “In all of his years down here… I’ve never seen him that bad.” Graves wiped briefly at her eyes, to Gob’s surprise. “He has woken up a few times, trying to tell Barrows he has to get back to the bar… but he was always in too much bad of shape. Had to inject him with some hella strong Med-X more than once.”

When they stood in front of the flimsy barrier to the bed, she turned to him, an oddly sympathetic yet still stern look in her watery eyes.

“He still looks like absolute shit, probably feels like it, too. So be prepared for it.”

And so he did. But it didn’t help him.

While he was at least more cleaned up now, Charon still looked so vulnerable, laying on the bed oddly still, the only movement being his irregular heaves of his chest and his brows contorting in agony with each of them. There was no blood anywhere anymore, but Gob could still smell that metallic scent. His weathered armor and undershirt were neatly folded on the table beside the bed, and it was only because he was stripped that Gob could see just how many darkened bruises covered the ghoul’s body. His eyes stung when they hovered over the horridly large one across his torso.

“Most of his ribs were snapped,” Graves spoke up from behind him. Her voice was quiet and sad. “A lot of them punctured his lungs. We got those out, but now, we just have to wait for the meds and radiation to work their magic.” She paused, clearing her throat to hide the sob. “When he wakes up, he still has coughing fits…” She pointed to the bucket beside the bed. It had been emptied, but Gob could see the remnants of red liquid on its walls. “That’s what that is for. In case that happens while you are here.”

Graves sighed, turning around and heading back to the desk. “I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll turn the radio on, it’ll help me block you guys out.” She gave a slight grin, replacing the barrier and clicking on the radio. The sounds of the ‘40s and ‘50s classics soothed Gob. In Megaton, they couldn’t get GNR; he had missed it.

Gob pulled up the chair in the little enclosure, and against his better judgement, he placed a hand on Charon’s, gently caressing it with his fingers, causing Charon to stir, but not wake. Gob let out a sad chuckle as one of his favorite songs seeped out of the radio speakers.

_Into each life some rain must fall_

_But too much is falling in mine…_

He wasn’t in control of his hand anymore, it seemed, as it traced the striations of the muscles in Charon’s arm and eventually stopping at the ghoul’s cheek. Gob traced every scar that littered it, his face telling more of a story than words could every express, then started to gently run through the remnants of red hair. He noticed a light bruise around Charon’s neck, causing a sob to catch in his throat.

_Into each heart some tears must fall_

_But someday the sun will shine…_

Tears started to drip off his face, lightly tapping on Charon’s hand. Why did it have to be Charon? Why him? What if he died? What if he doesn’t get better? What if Carol and Greta kick him out… what if he can’t tell the ghoul how he feels?

Gob’s frantic thoughts were interrupted by a twitch… and it wasn’t his fingers that did so. His heart started beating a mile a minute, his tear-filled eyes darting up and down Charon’s body. He must have been imagining things… that wasn’t him, was it?

Another twitch. And this time, Gob saw the other ghoul’s finger _move_. It was him.

“C-Charon…?”

_Some folks can lose_

_The blues in their hearts…_

A weak and pained groan escaped Charon’s lips. Gob cried harder; the once towering, unbroken, take-no-shit brute of a bouncer seemed to have no energy left in his body, causing that facade to falter. And Gob could tell he was fighting to keep it, with no success.

It took him a couple of minutes, but Charon finally managed to open his eyes ever so slightly. Gob could see a portion of his pasty blue eyes, and he noticed they were glassy, crying out unspoken words. He instinctively gripped the larger hand in the bed and was pleasantly surprised when that grip was returned twice as hard. Charon’s ragged breathing became more-so as he slowly awoke, and Gob was thankful he was there to calm him down.

“Sssh, Charon… y-you’re okay, just relax.”

_But when I think of you_

_Another shower starts…_

Charon blinked his eyes a few times in an effort to fight away the blurriness and dark, the faint hum of a voice bringing him back from unconsciousness. Was that… Gob?

He grunted, all the pain and recollection of what happened rushing back through his body. Once the graininess of his vision lessened, he was able to see that it was indeed Gob sitting beside him, his cheeks glistening with the tears that had been streaming down them, his pallid eyes bloodshot with worry. Charon’s eyes slowly rolled up to look into Gob’s, and there was silence between them for a number of minutes.

“G… Gob?” he finally sputtered followed by violent coughs, which made him cringe and damn near cry out in agony. “ _Fuck_ …” he muttered through gritted teeth. Gob tightened his grip onto his hand in response, and Charon found it oddly… relaxing.

“Bucket…” he whispered between coughs, and he was grateful that Gob vigilantly responded. Charon gripped the lip of it tight with his other hand, and he felt the other ghoul twinge as he violently hacked into the bucket. He was so tired of seeing his own blood. Once he finished, Charon took the liberty of putting the bucket down out of Gob’s vision, a few raspy breaths escaping him as his lungs recovered.

“You look… tired…”

_Into each life some rain must fall_

_But too much has fallen in mine._

Gob shuddered, suddenly feeling the remaining skin on his face warm up. “Oh, uh… I-I couldn’t sleep…” He took a deep breath. “Carol and Greta were arguing, and I just… I needed to get out, come see y-you…”

Charon groaned as he tried to readjust himself. “About?”

The lump in Gob’s throat refused to disintegrate. “... Me. Well, it was mostly Greta saying I should leave… and Carol didn’t… she didn’t say _anything_.” Charon could see the hint of anger on his usually timid face. “W-Why did she hire you?”

“I… am uncertain,” Charon admitted, his eyes moving to stare at the ceiling blankly. “Ahzrukhal did not offer information… and I didn’t ask.”

Gob sighed. He should have figured poor Charon wouldn’t know; he was just a tool. For several moments, the only noise was the radio, and for the first time, Charon was able to really listen. He recognized the song that was playing, one of his favorites from before the war, and he closed his eyes and allowed the music to grace his ears.

“Gob… thank you,” he said, and he felt Gob’s hand tighten slightly. “You were… brave. I most likely would not be here if it wasn’t… for you.”

Before Gob could respond at all, the door to The Chop Shop slammed open, and a familiar and angry wheezing echoed in the room. Charon clenched his jaw. “ _S_ _hit_ … I should’ve figured he’d come soon…” He tightly gripped Gob’s hand and then let it go. “Go… before he sees you in here.” With a nod and one last look, Gob slunk out of the partitioned corner and snuck under a bed, waiting for the slimeball to turn his back. Ahzrukhal forced his way into the blocked off corner, and as Gob left the room, he heard the drawling, raspy voice.

“Well, well, Charon… look what you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I made myself cry writing this chapter, oops.  
> And them sharing a favorite song wasn't planned but heck am I glad it turned into a thing.  
> I just had to get these thoughts out at the end of the chapter, because this was one of the most emotional things I've written in quite awhile.


	5. Back Against the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may not be too exciting of a chapter, but there be a big hecking plot point...
> 
> [ **W:** Drug overdose, character death]

‘ _ Shit, _ ’ Gob cursed to himself as he narrowly slipped out of The Chop Shop, wiping his brow as he exited. “That could have gone a lot worse…” he muttered to himself, brushing off the few cobwebs that clung to him from underneath the bed. He started to walk towards the stairs to finally go turn in for the night, but something made him stop. Gob couldn’t help but worry again. What was Ahzrukhal going to do? Surely Nurse Graves wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen… would she? Part of him was debating on turning around and marching right back into the door he snuck out from; he recognized this feeling from when he had to lug Charon here. It was a weird courage he had never felt before, as if the curse of Moriarty being lifted suddenly ignited a chord.

With a clenched fist, Gob turned his feet back towards the infirmary. He was almost there, almost ready to bust in those double doors and give that bag of irradiated sleaze a piece of his mind…

He was startled out of his revere when, as if on cue, Ahzrukhal swung the doors open, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth and that smirk permanently plastered on his face. He looked into Gob’s eyes as he passed. Gob wanted to throw up.

“Welcome home, youngin’,” Ahzrukhal croaked, blowing some rings of smoke into the other’s eyes, “I trust there were no…  _ issues _ on your return here, yes?”

Gob wanted to punch him. He knew damn well what happened; he just wanted to push the buttons of the naive ghoul. He inwardly punched himself as he caved in.

“No… except for one. I-I assume he told you?” Damn his stutter.

Ahzrukhal’s smirk seemed to grow somehow, and he took another drag of his cigarette. “Indeed he did. I hate when he gets… reckless… putting himself in danger for…  _ no good reason _ ,” he drawled, blowing more of those nasty fumes in Gob’s face, making him cough, “Charon is of prime importance to my business, don’t forget. Your lucky your “mother” is so damn likable.”

With one last sneer, Ahzrukhal walked past him and up the stairs back to his cesspool of a bar, and Gob released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself. He eyeballed the doors yet again, but stopped himself, and Gob instead walked back up the stairs to Carol’s. Sleep was beckoning him, and he damn near collapsed in his bed. 

. . . . . .

Gob did his best to wipe to sleep from his eyes as he wiped the counter. He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep between the argument, visiting Charon, and yet another nightmare that crept up on him. He sighed as he continued setting up for the day, occasionally cursing under his breath as he fumbled and nearly dropped a few things. Carol glanced at him, a look of concern forming.

“Gobbie, darling, are you feeling well?”

“O-Oh, uh…” Gob stuttered as he dropped a box of Blamco Mac and Cheese on the floor, “Just, uh… didn’t get a lot of sleep, is all.” He quickly picked the box up and winced, his brain programmed to expect retaliation.

“You just seem…” she trailed off as she pointed to the box that had been dropped, “Preoccupied.”

“I-I’m sorry, I promise it won’t happen again,” Gob cowered, and for a moment, he forgot he wasn’t in the saloon anymore. A gentle pat on his shoulder and a motherly smile brought him back to reality.

“Relax, Gobbie, I wasn’t trying to attack you. I just want to be sure you are okay, being back here and all.”

Gob nodded, his lips curling up slightly. “Thank you… Mom.”

The next couple of days flew by, and the business seemed to only continue to grow. Gob could only guess that it was the more abundant liquor sales, which he pat himself on the back for. He would occasionally notice ghouls coming in through the Ninth Circle entrance, and he could only imagine how pissed Ahzrukhal must’ve been seeing his customers walk out on him. Swindling could only get him so far.

At the end of one of these hectic days, Gob wiped the sweat from his brow and after cleaning up for the night, he announced to Carol and Greta that he would be out for awhile. Carol wished him for a safe outing, but the other ghoulette was of the opposite opinion. They knew he was going to visit Charon, whom Greta had a pretty low opinion of, Gob found out.

“Going to visit that  _ bouncer _ again?” she sneered, her brow contorted into a scowl, arms crossed.

“Yes… is there a problem?”

“Only that there are plenty of other ghouls that would be better to spend your time with,” Greta huffed, “What makes  _ him _ so special anyways? He’s just Ahzrukhal’s fucking dog.”

Gob could feel his hand twitch and his jaw clench, and he didn’t know why, but he  _ really _ wanted to punch her in the face.

He didn’t even give her an answer; he instead turned and started out the door. Gob could hear the frustrated huffs and puffs of Greta behind him, but he quickly tuned them out. 

. . . . . .

Charon was thankful he was able to at least sit up now. He was growing tired of being confined to a bed, his muscles starting to ache from inactivity. Sudden movements were still slightly painful, but at least the numerous stimpacks and many radiation treatments were finally resulting in improvement. Nurse Graves had at least been kind enough to bring him a book, which he was now re-reading for the third time.

It had been an uneventful and silent few days, which Charon found unusual; he figured that Gob would’ve at least poked his head in by now. Charon wasn’t mad per-se, but there was a slight pang of… disappointment? He shrugged it off. He was used to no one really giving a shit. With a sigh, he started reading that blasted book yet again, only this time it was unable to keep his attention. Charon didn’t realize what overcame him, and he let his eyes shut, not even realizing the door opened.

Gob greeted Graves, who was sitting at the terminal working as usual, and made his way to the sectioned-off corner. He really felt terrible for not being able to visit since that night Ahzrukhal busted in, and his stomach turned. What if he hated him now, or what if he thought he didn’t care? He shivered at the thought, his hand shaking as he pulled the partition aside.

The sight before him made his heart race and a large, soft smile form. Charon was not only sitting up - definitely a better sign than last time - but he was holding a book in his lap, his head leaned back against the wall, and his face was oddly peaceful as he dozed off. Gob couldn’t help but chuckle lightly as he walked to the bedside. It was an odd and very rare moment when Charon wasn’t some foreboding killing machine, but just another poor soul in this fucked up world. 

Gob was very careful as he placed a hand on top of one of Charon’s as to not wake him, but he should’ve known it wouldn’t have worked. He was suddenly met with those piercing blue eyes.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Gob immediately apologized, retracting his hand, “You look… better.”

Charon blinked a couple of times before straightening his posture, closing the book and setting it on the bedside table. He nodded, “I feel better, yes.”

Gob nodded in return, not knowing what else to say. He always got so tongue-tied around Charon... 

“Also, sorry for not coming down more often. Carol’s has been busy,” he finally said after swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I’m certain Ahzrukhal is pissed,” Charon replied with the smallest hint of a chuckle.

“I’ve… I’ve actually been thinking about something…” Gob muttered. He looked up to the bedridden ghoul for some sort of acknowledgement to continue; Charon nodded. “I-I might go back to Megaton, open the saloon back up there.” 

Charon was legitimately surprised, his eyes giving it all away. “Why?”

Gob didn’t know. And his silence indicated that.

“Until you can answer that question, don’t do it.”

Somehow, that very simple piece of advice made Gob feel better and resonated with him. While he didn’t necessarily  _ want _ to leave Underworld, he didn’t know if working at Carol’s was what he wanted to do. Part of Gob missed the hustle and bustle of a proper bar setting. He sighed, conflicted. Charon took that as a pass to continue.

“I know you just returned here and may be still readjusting, but returning there would be worse for you. You left for a reason.”

Gob couldn’t deny any of what he was saying, so he remained silent. He had no rebuttal. He was surprised when Charon took his hand, squeezing it ever so gently in affirmation. 

“I risked my life to get you out of that shithole, away from that slaver, and away from all those fucking smoothskins who did nothing but look down on you. You fucking deserve better, and as long as I breath, I will  _ not _ allow you to return.”

Gob sat there, holding Charon’s hand, eyes wide, tears brimming at their corners. Despite Charon’s face being stoic as ever, his words conveyed an emotion he might not have even realized. Charon was protecting him, shielding him…  _ cared _ about him. Gob allowed the tears to fall from his eyes and sobs escape his lips.

“C-Charon…”   


“At least give it more time here. Just… promise you won’t go back  _ there _ ,” he snarled, his grip tightening on Gob’s hand. 

“Promise.”

. . . . . .

It had been a couple days after Gob had visited him, and Charon was more than happy to finally be out of The Chop Shop. Donning his clothes, armor, knife, and shotgun yet again, he felt whole again, and with a small feeling of anguish, Charon walked up the stairs to the Ninth Circle, ignoring all the stares and snarky remarks along the way.

The stench of the bar hit him like a truck when he opened the door. He shared the shortest glance with his employer before resuming his position in the corner, crossing his arms menacingly and darting his eyes around to watch the patrons. And suddenly, it was like Charon had never even left.

It ended up being quite a busy day for Charon; he never seemed to get much downtime against the wall. He assumed that while he was out of commission, Ahzrukhal’s customers decided they could do anything they wanted. They sure as hell got a rude awakening today.

That night ended up being the same as Charon remembered. Ahzrukhal practically drooled as he counted his caps for the day - which he noticed was a lot smaller than he remembered - and proceeded to inhale tons of alcohol and Jet. A lot more than usual, he noticed, and apparently a lot stronger of stuff. After a couple hits of the inhaler, Ahzrukhal was a wobbly and incoherent mess. He made his way over to Charon, holding the Jet out towards him.

“Hit it,” Ahzrukhal drawled, clearly making an effort to be understandable.

It was an order. Charon took the inhaler in his hand and put it to his mouth, pressing down the plunge, and he immediately knew this wasn’t ordinary Jet. Even after one hit, his mind seemed to slow to a crawl, his thoughts halting, his muscles constricting in slow motion. He handed the drug back to Ahzrukhal, who gleefully took it, hitting it again.

‘ _ Is this… Murphy’s UltraJet? _ ’ Charon thought to himself as he watched his employer flail around the bar. It had to be…

After several hours, Charon had simply stopped paying Ahzrukhal any attention. Until it was awfully quiet. He had last heard some sounds from the back room, but it was now eerily silent. The contract was pulling him. Unsheathing his knife, Charon slowly made his way to the back, his head hurting as he did so. ‘ _ Why now? _ ’

By the time he reached the back room, Charon’s head was pounding, and his vision was blurry. The contract continued to pull him.

He then saw why.

Ahzrukhal laid in the back room, unmoving, red liquid seeping from his mouth and nasal passages, vomit pooled beside his head. Countless empty inhalers of Jet and bottles littered the floor. The pain in Charon’s head magnified almost to the point of causing him to pass out then and there. He had to leave… had to find someone to take his contract, someone who could make this pain go away.

He burst through the double doors into Carol’s Place.

Carol and Gob both yelped in surprise as Charon stumbled in with his head in his hands and panic in his eyes. Gob immediately ran over to him and clamped his hands on the taller ghoul’s shoulders, shaking him slightly to try and snap him out of whatever trance was taking hold.

“Charon?  _ Charon?! _ Talk to me!”

“He’s… dead…” Charon muttered through pained groans. 

Gob’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he was happy for Charon; he could also finally be free of his own chains. But then it dawned on him. 

The contract.

“Charon, look at me,” he demanded, and Charon did so, the pain and confusion in his eyes hitting Gob’s heart hard, “Stay here with Carol, please. I will return.”

With a newfound purpose, Gob left Charon’s side and entered the Ninth Circle. He started rummaging through the bar, tossing aside bottles and crates. He even searched Ahzrukhal’s body, surprising himself by not gagging at the sight. Gob found a piece of paper, but not the one he was searching for. Instead, it was one with a safe combination. Why not try it? He input the numbers into the wall safe behind the bar, and after shifting aside piles of caps, Gob found what he was looking for, snagging it and closing the safe.

Before he walked back through the doors, Gob took a final glance around the bar, and he got an idea, a sudden spark of inspiration. It would take a lot of work, but maybe, just maybe, he could redeem this place. This could be Gob’s bar.

As soon as Gob entered Carol’s, Charon straightened up, the pain seemingly gone. He stood from the table Carol had made him sit at and walked up to Gob. Those entrancing blue eyes stared into his, and Gob was sure his knees would buckle. He didn’t even have to say anything; Charon knew.

“You now hold my contract, and for good or ill, I will serve you.”

Gob nodded with a smile. “Well, big guy, want to help renovate that bar? Get all of  _ his _ nastiness out of there?”

And for the first time, Gob saw Charon smirk, and with a nod, his new employee simply stated, “Yes.”


	6. Some Rot is Permanent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be some of that sweet Fallout violence next chapter.
> 
> But for now, have my attempt at delving into these guys' interactions and feelings that they may or may not want known.

Over the next couple of days, Gob and Charon worked until their bones felt like they would squelch into jelly. There was definitely a lot of work to be done, as Ahzrukhal never bothered or put effort into maintaining the place. Gob never realized just how disgusting the bar was until he knelt down and did his best to scrub out the soot from many cigarettes and cigars past from the floor. He took a glance to see what Charon was up to, finding him doing the exact same on the opposite side of the room. Gob didn’t realize he was staring, his arms slowing as his heart did the opposite. Besides when he laid in The Chop Shop, Charon was never seen without his bodyguard-esque equipment, and Gob found something oddly domestic about the way he was sitting on the floor in just his pants, boots, and undershirt and helping him clean.

Gob snapped himself out of his daydream and put slightly more vigor into his movements. His arms stung, and his muscles twinged in protest. With a sigh, he sat back on the heels of his shoes and wiped the sweat from his brow. He took another look at Charon, who was still working away, beads of sweat falling from his brow, that robotically emotionless face only slightly twitching as no doubt his muscles were fatiguing as well.

“Charon, why don’t we take a break?”

“As you command,” was the automated response, and Gob caught himself flinching. He stood up and walked over behind the bar, snagging a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and a pack of cigarettes. Charon had simply resorted to sitting on the floor, leaned back against the wall and starting to inspect and clean his combat knife. Gob guessed it must have just been habit for him, maybe even a nervous tick to keep his mind off things.

Gob sat against the wall perpendicular to Charon, the glasses clanging as he placed them on the floor. That got Charon’s attention, and he eyed Gob with an unplaceable interest as he poured whiskey into both of them, handing one to him along with offering a smoke. Charon hesitated, not used to such hospitality all of the sudden, but he nodded and accepted the offering. A smile graced Gob’s face, and he sipped his own glass, coughing slightly as the golden liquid burned his throat. He could’ve sworn he heard a chuckle from the other, though he did his damnedest to hide it.

Charon pulled a lighter from his pocket, and after he lit his cigarette, he extended a hand. Gob was confused, and it was apparently obvious.

“You want it lit or not?” Charon snorted. Gob rubbed his neck in embarrassment as he handed it over, muttering a thank you as it was promptly returned, smoke now floating from the tip.

For the most part, the ghouls sat there in silence, taking drags of their smokes and swigs of their liquor. Gob finally broke the stiff air.

“So, I never asked… w-what is your contract exactly?”

The redhead beside him took a longer drag than he had been, and after downing the rest of his whiskey and half of another pour, Charon answered, “As long as you hold the contract, I serve you for good or ill. I will defend you with my life, and the bar if you order me to do so. I will obey orders without question, so long as they do not harm you or myself. Physical violence on your part invalidates the contract, and I will be obligated to defend myself.”

Gob sat there with widened eyes, just letting the information sink in. Of course, he had never realized the extent of Charon’s ‘employment’, and there was a pang in his heart. Albeit without a binding parchment, Gob was in the same circumstance under Moriarty; just a pawn, a _slave_.

He hesitated and took a swig to provide some liquid courage before asking another question. “Was this… pre-war, then?” A nod. “Do you remember… anything?”

Charon stumped out his cigarette on the floor, and suddenly, his eyes… something changed in them, something Gob couldn’t place.

“No.”

An incredible sadness welled in him. It wasn’t that Charon didn’t want to talk about the past. He just _couldn’t_. Gob wanted to reach out and console him, let him know everything was okay. But instead, he simply refilled Charon’s now empty glass with more golden elixir, which he immediately chugged.

“I-I’m sorry to bring it up,” Gob muttered, fiddling with his glass.

“If you request information, I am to provide to the best of my ability.”

“W-Well… what happens if…” He took a deep breath, polishing off his glass, “What happens if there is no contract…?”

Gob was surprised when he actually _saw_ an emotion on Charon’s face, a mix between confusion and anger. He probably should’ve stopped talking but the whiskey apparently made his gums flap.

“If there is no contract to bind you, then… then you can be free… right?”

Charon let out a frustrated sigh, grabbing the whiskey bottle and chugging straight from it. Gob became slightly worried, especially after the bottle was soon empty. It was like Charon was _trying_ to get drunk, to forget something. Anything.

“That isn’t how it works,” he rasped, the smell of whiskey strong on his breath, “If you were to attempt to destroy the contract, I would have to resort to… certain methods to stop you.” The inflection of Charon’s voice made Gob tremble. Was he implying…

“It just isn’t fair, Charon…” he continued to mutter, blaming the alcohol coursing through his body, “I was able to be freed, and now look at me… doing exactly what Moriarty did…”

“ _No_ ,” Charon snapped, making Gob jump a little in surprise, “You are _nothing_ like him. He was a filthy bastard, using you for his own personal fucking agenda.”

Gob was taken aback by the sudden emotion coursing through Charon’s normally stoic form. He had a feeling it was Ahzrukhal that was making him this way. At this point, the all-business filter Charon usually had seemed to malfunction, an intense flare in his blue eyes as he continued.

“The world deserves to be rid of those fucking bastards, period. They have no morals, no remorse, _nothing_. And as for being freed…” Charon paused, sighing and lightly tossing the empty whiskey bottle around, wishing there was more, “As long as I can recall, I haven’t been. I have grown accustomed to it. The contract is all I’ve known, and… I don’t know how I would be as a free man.

“I have been conditioned to be a monster. Ruthless, unrelenting, violent. Not one of my employers have _not_ taken advantage of that, and I have done horrific deeds as a result,” Charon paused and was thankful when Gob went and grabbed more whiskey, a bigger bottle this time, handing over the entire thing after he poured himself some.

“It’s not like you wanted to…” Gob interjected, slouching his drink around nervously. He spent a couple of moments just staring into the pool of amber, and when he finally met Charon’s eyes again, that flare receding and replaced by an odd kind of softness.

“Charon, I-I know this will sound strange, maybe even fucking dumb… but I truly believe you aren’t as bad of a guy as you like to think. You got fucked up before the bombs fell… but that doesn’t make you a monster.”

Charon growled in response, gripping the bottle tight, “Gob, you don’t understand. If my employer orders me to kill, _I kill_ . If my employer orders me to rape and pillage, _that’s what I do_.”

Gob mentally kicked himself; he had to make Charon see somehow. He gulped down all the anxiety and fear he had, and as Charon started making quick work of the alcohol yet again, Gob cautiously pushed it down from his lips. All he could smell was the harsh and yet pleasant whiskey on Charon’s breath, which only grew more intense as he closed the distance between them.

“Gob… what the fuck are you-”

Charon didn’t get a chance to finish as Gob’s lips connected with his. He sat there stunned. Once the light peck was broken, Gob practically curled into a ball, muttering to himself about how stupid he was, questioning why he even did that. And Charon had to admit, he had that exact same question. He sat there in disbelief still, his gut wrenching and tying itself in knots. This wasn’t the contract affecting him… this was something else…

Suddenly, Gob hopped onto his feet and nervously dusted himself off. “W-Well, uh, we should probably get back to work…”

Charon simply nodded, corking the bottle to save it for later. “As you command.”

. . . . . .

Gob wanted to slam his head against the wall. Repeatedly.

‘ _What the fuck was that? Why did you do that? What made you_ possibly _think…_ ’

The thoughts rapid-fired in his brain, only exacerbated by the silence of the bar. From the back room, he could faintly hear the clinks of metal; Charon must be cleaning his gun yet again. He debated on going out there and just watching him, maybe organize the alcohol shelves, _anything_ to get Gob’s mind off of the events from earlier that were still fresh in his mind. But he couldn’t bring himself to. So he took to laying down in bed and at least trying to get some sleep.

Gob had just started to doze off when a hoarse and raspy noise caught his attention. At first he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him during the beginnings of sleep, but it continued. He got out of his bed slowly, being careful not to give his position away and snagging the tire iron he kept for bar defense. Gob cracked the door ever so slightly, listening for the source of the noise. It now sounded more like whimpers mixed with groans and some semblance of talking. He gripped the tire iron tighter as he pushed his door open. Gob snuck his way behind the bar counter and poked his head out to scan for intruders. There was none. He suddenly became confused, and he continued to patrol the bar. He eventually found the source, and Gob audibly gulped.

He was crouched in front of the closed door to the storage room, which now served as Charon’s quarters. With the utmost silence, Gob placed a hand on the knob and turned it, cautiously pushing open the door just a smidgen. The sounds were now clear as crystal, and Gob’s heart sank. They were coming from Charon.

The blankets that Charon had so flawlessly put together on the bed were now a heaping mess all over the floor. It seemed as though he could never stay in one position for long; he was constantly tossing and turning. His breathing was rapid, eyes screwed shut, fingers digging into the mattress - if he had fingernails, he probably would have ripped it by now. It was painfully obvious to Gob that the ghoul was suffering from some kind of violent nightmare. But what was he supposed to do about it?

Before Gob could even move, Charon shot upright in bed, eyes snapping open. However, he didn’t seem to really be awake; his eyes were glazed over and unfocused, his posture slouched. Gob was anxious beyond words, but despite that, he slowly stood up.

“Charon? It is just me…” he said softly as he took a step towards the bed. Charon flinched.

“W-What do you want…?”

He stuttered. Charon never stuttered. Gob took another step.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Charon. Relax…”

That seemed to trigger something in Charon, and he frantically backed away from him until his back collided with the wall. Gob’s worry was, at this point, out of control. He racked his brain to try and think of something, fucking anything, to help the suddenly vulnerable ghoul in front of him.

“I… I can’t do it anymore… leave me be…” Charon muttered, his voice uncharacteristically trembling.

“I’m… I’m not going anywhere,” Gob stated, making his voice stern but still friendly. He was able to inch his way to the bed and slowly sit down on it. Charon instinctually retracted his legs. Gob wasn’t having it, though, and he set a hand on one of Charon’s knees, giving it a reassuring rub.

“Charon, look at me.”

Those blue eyes darted to meet his own pasty white ones. Charon’s eyelids were starting to droop, his eyes losing focus. Gob shifted so he could gently settle Charon back in bed, all the while keeping that tender grip on his knee. It seemed to be relaxing him finally, to Gob’s relief.

“You are safe… relax, Charon. They can’t hurt you anymore… not here.”

Gob stayed beside Charon until he was undeniably asleep. He found it super odd, though, and once he eyeballed the two empty whiskey bottles, his question was answered. ‘ _Note to self, way too much alcohol makes Charon actually sleep_.’

He couldn’t help but smile as Charon started to snore ever so lightly. With a final squeeze to Charon’s knee, Gob leaned down and gave his forehead a little peck.

“Goodnight, Charon.”


	7. Trudging the Halls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this ended up being a day late, have been a busy bee.
> 
> Kind of a shorter chapter, buuuuut there starts to be some ~feels~  
> Next chapter will be the exploration of them!
> 
> [ **W:** Canon-typical violence/gore]

Gob felt amazing when the bar was finally ready to be reopened. His giddiness could not be contained as he unlocked the doors on opening day. He turned his head around, a large smile plastered on his face.

“Well, you ready, Charon?”

The aforementioned was in his typical spot in the corner, leaning against the wall, hands crossed in front of him and eyes emotionless. Gob tried his best not to show it, but his worry was escalating. Ever since Gob had helped through his nightmare, Charon was oddly distant. Sure, he was not the most outgoing ghoul in Underworld anyways, but before, there had been moments when they would at least share some words and a drink or two. Lately, Charon seemed to be more all-business than usual, only saying his typical line: “As you command.” Nothing else. Like he had just turned off the part of himself that was reignited after Ahzrukhal’s death, and Charon chose to return to his robotic and mechanical state.

Charon simply nodded in response and a wave of sadness unexpectedly overcame Gob. He mentally kicked himself for expecting anything more. With a defeated sigh, Gob turned back around and opened the door. In the back of his mind, all he could think about was Charon. He wanted to help him… but how?

He instead decided to just focus on the business for the day. That was the only way Gob could stay sane right now. So he greeted his customers with a smile, welcoming them to the new and improved Ninth Circle.

. . . . . .

The day had been quite lucrative, business being fairly constant. Charon was thankful that he didn’t have to leave his post much, except for a couple of times when patrons got particularly rowdy. He didn’t really want to move from his position anyways. He would have to look Gob in the face otherwise.

Charon’s nightmares had started to get out of control. It was sadly something that happened every time to contract changed hands, his brain’s idiotic way of reminding him of all the things he had undergone under the then previous employer. But for some reason, they were more vivid this time, more consistent, and they tended to last damn near all night. He had caught himself sleep-walking multiple times, and his body was constantly sore from the nights full of tosses and turns.

Once the bar had emptied, Charon took it upon himself to light a cigarette. He could feel Gob’s stare from behind the counter. He let out a cloud of smoke with a sigh as he watched Gob walk towards him, eyes fixated to the wall.

“Good day today, huh, Charon?”

A simple nod followed by a drag of his smoke.

“Now that the bar is empty… I have a favor to ask,” Gob muttered, looking up at Charon as if asking for approval to continue, “I asked Greta to watch for any trouble while we are gone.”

This peaked Charon’s interest, and he raised a brow, “Permission to ask a question.”

“... Yes…?” Charon had never asked for permission before. What was up with him?

“What exactly will we be gone for?”

“Well, one of the kegs is acting up, and Winthrop needs a certain part to fix it. He says that there might be one in the…” Gob paused, taking a sigh, his nerves hitting him, “In the Offices.”

“I will go retrieve it if you wish.”

Gob’s eyes widened. “No, no… I-I can also go.”

“That place is not safe,” Charon growled, his eyes narrowing. He could see Gob’s little body tremble.

“I-I know. But I’m not going to make you do  _ my _ dirty work. So… I will at least come with you and help.” Gob pulled out a 10mm pistol, which was in surprisingly good condition. “I went to Tulip’s and picked it up… I won’t let  _ that _ happen again,” he muttered, taking a quick glance at Charon’s torso and thinking back to the centaur. He would  _ not _ be helpless again.

Charon simply shrugged, polishing off his cigarette. “As you command.”

There he goes again. Gob grunted in slight annoyance and walked towards the door. He could hear Charon’s steps behind him, and he felt a small reassurance that he really would be safe. They just had to snag this part and leave. That’s it.

The duo received a couple of strange looks from the few who were still wandering, but they pressed on until they were at the entrance to the lower halls. Gob gulped down the lump in his throat as he stood in front of the door. His hands were trembling and making it impossible to open it. Charon suddenly walked up and brushed past him, opening the door with shotgun readied.

“I will lead to guarantee your safety. Just tell me where to go.”

Gob nodded, and they made their way into the halls. The faint sound of the snarls of ferals could be heard throughout the hallways, making Gob tremble, though he still firmly held his pistol at the ready. Normally, the ferals wouldn’t come for them unless they were too far-gone and violent. Thankfully, there weren’t very many of those left.

The lower halls were relatively quiet, and it didn’t take them long to reach the Offices. There were rumors this part of the museum was particularly… rough, which made Gob hesitant. Charon was very careful, however, when he opened the door, cracking it at first so he could open it slowly with his shotgun pointed. The pair cautiously made their way through the rooms of many cubicles, only imagining the hustle and bustle that was once here. Gob tapped Charon’s shoulder, their signal to stop, and he rummaged through a pile of parts. A smile formed on his features as he pulled out the part he needed in victory, Charon fidgeting behind him with his finger clenched on the shotgun’s trigger.

“This place is not safe,” Charon muttered, a nervous sweat on his brow. He scoffed as Gob seemed to be nonchalant as he stood back up. 

“Charon, I think we will be fine. Nothing has--”

He was cut off by a loud screech down the hallway, causing Charon to snap his eyes towards the darkness. His mouth formed into a snarl as he felt radiation seep through the remnants of his skin. Immediately, Charon pointed his gun down the hallway.

“Stay back. I believe there is a Reaver here.”

Gob gulped, his heart thumping and panic coursing through his veins. His fingers trembled around his pistol, and despite his nerves and Charon’s command, he followed down the hall. He could imagine Charon’s annoyance, but Gob wasn’t going to sit back. Not this time.

He was tempted to change his mind immediately as the Reaver came into view, however. These things were always so disgusting looking, the radiation deforming them beyond belief and oozing like pus out of their orifices. It had already spotted Charon and let out another ear-piercing screech. Charon’s response was a shotgun blast to its torso.

“Yeah?! You want some?”

Some sort of fire flickered in Gob as he heard Charon’s relentless taunting and the thunder of his gun. His fingers calmed, his mind suddenly cleared, and he became more focused. As the many cries of other ferals echoed around them, the gunshots waking them from their passive stupors, Gob brought up his pistol and looked down the sights. With confidence, he started popping bullets into the ferals’ heads, each exploding in blood and brain matter. He could hear the scuffle behind him as Charon fought the Reaver, and he couldn’t help but smile. They were  _ finally _ being a team, and Gob loved it.

Gob was on a roll… until he had to reload. For some reason, his nerves returned, and his fingers fumbled with the bullets. Once he finally got it, he looked up to see a feral directly in front of him, arm reeling back and ready to strike. He hurriedly lifted his pistol, and with a quick, deep breath, he pulled the trigger, and the feral’s head was suddenly no more. Gob’s heart beat out of his chest, and oddly enough, the boom of the shotgun behind him followed by the Reaver going silent made it slow down in relaxation. Gob felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned his head and looked up. Sitting there on his knees, he realized just how much Charon towered over him. He was surprised when he saw a smirk on Charon’s face, those blue eyes bright and powerful in the darkness of the Office.

“You did good, Gob,” he said, his voice still robotic in nature but having some hint of satisfaction and pride as well. Gob could feel the blush rushing across the remaining skin on his face, and he knew his eyes were wide in surprise. 

“O-oh, uh… thank you…”

A chuckle - was it a  _ chuckle? _ \- snuck from Charon’s throat as he reloaded his shotgun. “Let us head back. We don’t know if there are more around.”

Gob nodded, checking his own pistol, and with a confident smirk, he took the lead through the Offices and lower halls. Charon watched the back, and he found his thoughts wandering in places he didn’t know (or more likely forgot) existed. Never before would Gob have had the balls to even hold a pistol, let alone use one to stand up to a mob of angry ferals. But here he was, and Charon couldn’t help but smile. 

He was feeling…  _ something _ , and as much as he tried, Charon couldn’t place it. He found himself eyeballing Gob more and more as they walked through the halls and back to Underworld. Gob was carrying himself differently now, his back straightened and the confidence practically radiating off of him. Charon found it…  _ attractive _ .

Gob excitedly opened the door to the Ninth Circle, practically running to the keg and getting to work fixing it. Charon was content to assume his spot in the corner until ordered otherwise; besides, from here, he could easily watch him. His thoughts were suddenly racing, trying to figure out why he was feeling this pit in his stomach and fluttering in his gut. He pulled out a cigarette and kept his eyes on his employer as he lit it.

Charon didn’t know why, but suddenly, he couldn’t take his eyes off of him.


End file.
